Chapter 4 - The Paper Trail and the Rat
By midnight, the Hayes family had been safely sent home in a private corporate car, their rent paid in full through a direct wire transfer that Alec had personally authorized. But inside the forty-eighth floor, the atmosphere had shifted from corporate cold to lethal heat.
Marcus Vance, the chief financial officer of Cortez Enterprises’ domestic sector, stood in front of Alec’s desk. He was sweating through his bespoke Italian shirt, his fingers twitching against the seams of his trousers.
On the desk lay three separate printouts of the Apex Management payroll.
"Explain the delta, Marcus," Alec said. He wasn't shouting. His voice was conversational, almost gentle, which made it infinitely more terrifying.
"It’s... it’s a restructuring fee, Alec," Marcus stammered, using the boss's first name—a critical mistake in etiquette. "With the inflation adjustments and the new union tariffs, we had to reallocate funds to keep the margins profitable for the board—"
"The board doesn't look at the cleaning budget, Marcus. I do," Alec interrupted. He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto the CFO like a hawk targeting a field mouse. "The funds weren't reallocated. They were skimmed. They were sent to a corporate entity called Veritas Holdings, registered in Delaware, with an offshore mirror in the Caymans. Do you want to tell me who owns Veritas, or should I let Carmine find out using his own instruments?"
Marcus looked at Carmine, who was standing by the door, idly tossing a silver Zippo lighter up and down. The metallic clink-clink of the lighter was the only sound in the massive room.
"It was Victor," Marcus whispered, his knees finally giving out as he collapsed into one of the leather visitor chairs. "Victor Cross. He said you’d never notice. He said the janitorial staff was transient anyway—that if they complained, we could just replace the vendor and erase the records."
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Alec’s eyes darkened. Victor Cross was his cousin, a regional captain who managed the docks and the transport unions. He was a man who still thought the family operated in 1985, back when you could steal from the collection boxes and bury the witnesses in the marshlands.
"Victor thinks because we share blood, he can share my ledger," Alec said, standing up and buttoning his jacket. "Carmine, bring the car around. It’s time we remind my cousin why my father left the city to me, and not to him."
